


After Everything We’ve Seen

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bonding, Brothers bonding, Cuddles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, a sad happy scene between them, because when do cuddles happen when Damian is happy, honestly this is another chance for me to have Dick cuddle Damian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Dick finds Damian curled in the corner of the couch.





	After Everything We’ve Seen

Dick found Damian curled into the couch in the living room. His brother was rolled into a ball in against the arm rest, and looked like he was trying his best to disappear into the cushions. He was supposed to be in bed. It was well after Bruce had sent him, back and even after their later patrol had ended.

He scuffed his feet on the floor to make sure Damian heard him as he moved forward. He didn’t want to spook him, but he wanted to give the kid time to compose himself before Dick made him speak. He moved slowly, making natural noise that wasn’t too loud and finally sat on the cushion beside Damian’s. His brother didn’t move, and Dick didn’t expect him to.

It took a few minutes for Damian to huff. He had yet to uncurl himself, probably because that would be to admit he’d been upset and not trying to sleep. But at least the noise meant he was ready to talk.

“You should be in bed.”

Dick couldn’t stop a gentle smile from slipping over his face, his brother always thought about others first. “So, should you.”

He received a grunt in response and Damian finally pulled himself into a sitting position. For all his attempts to compose himself, Dick could still see the puffiness to his eyes, and the red splotches on his nose and cheeks. Even through it, he glared at Dick.

“Don’t tell me you stayed up to tell me goodnight.” Dick prodded.

Damian’s glare deepened and he sniffed. Under the red splotches his face was pale, and bags weighed down his eyes.

“No.” He said, at last. “I was not.”

Dick frowned and inched a bit closer. Damian attempted to shove himself further into the corner of the couch. He was already pretty deeply tucked in so the action was more for show than something that might put real distance between the two of them.

“Will you to tell me if it was a nightmare or not at least?”

The glare softened, “A nightmare.”

Dick held an arm out, an invitation. When Damian didn’t lean forward right away Dick beckoned him, “Come on kiddo. A hug won’t kill you.”

When his brother still had not moved Dick decided to take matters into his own hands. He leaned forward and plucked Damian from his spot and set him in his lap. His arms wrapping around the boy’s middle, tugging him close, chin resting on his brother’s head.

“Richard!” Damian’s cry was his only source of struggle against Dick’s coddling.

It seemed that his attempts to get away ended when contact was made. Meaning the dream had been a nasty one. His aversion to Dick, first not coming to Dick’s room, then by avoiding contact, hinted at the nightmare’s content.

“This will not work, you know.” Damian said, seeming to read Dick’s mind. Still, he wasn’t trying to squirm away.

“What?” Dick asked.

“You attempting to coax my nightmare out of me.”

“Talking about it helps.” Dick snuggled his cheek into Damian’s baby soft hair. “You know that.”

Damian huffed. He attempted to cross his arms and only ended up bumping them into Dick’s, so he settled for finding one of Dick’s hands to grip. He let his fingers lace between Damian’s. Silence stretched between them as his little brother thought.

Dick knew that whatever had haunted Damian’s dreams and kept him up was something that would upset him. If it wasn’t Damian would have told him already. He’d gotten so much better at opening up about things. Still, there were certain topics he refused to talk about. Most of them had to do with the time before he came to live in Gotham. All of them were sure to upset Dick. 

That was Damian’s problem. He bottled things up while trying to protect his brother from hurting for him. What Damian didn’t seem to understand was that anything that bothered Damian, bothered Dick. 

Dick hummed then said quietly, “I think you’ll find this arrangement to work in both our favors.”

His brother’s hand tightened on his own, “Are you certain?”

“Yeah.”

There was a beat and then Damian started to nod, realized Dick’s chin was still on his head and sighed.

“Very well.” He said, “If you are insistent on listening I will humor you.”

“I am.” Dick said.

Silence fell over them again for a few moments. Dick realized Damian was probably trying to figure out where to start. Or how to make the dream seem less then it was. While he was thinking, his other hand found Dick’s arm, palm splayed against it, ready to grip at his sleeve if he needed the support.

“It—It was almost a memory, but a somewhat warped version.” Damian started, and Dick had to resist a derisive snort. It was hard to imagine anything Talia put him through wasn’t warped.

“Mother was unhappy with how I completed a mission.” Damian continued, “The punishment was not pleasant.”

Dick had never been able to not react when Damian talked about the League. He got angry. Furious. If it would do any good to hop on one of Bruce’s planes and fly to wherever Talia was hiding to deck her and anyone who’d ever laid a hand on Damian, Dick would have done it in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t change a thing about Damian’s past. It wouldn’t stop him from be raised being told love was a weakness. Couldn’t prevent any of the pain that had been wrongly inflicted on him. It wouldn’t change anything.

That didn’t stop Dick from getting upset every time Damian mentioned an old wound, or a nightmare influenced by one. He couldn’t control his face. The fury, the hurt, the pain he felt for Damian. It had backfired on him many times. So often, his brother had stopped talking about those times.

They’d argued about it, of course. Damian needed an outlet, so the wounds wouldn’t fester and boil in his mind. Dick needed to know what to protect his brother from. What to avoid doing, and saying. Most importantly it gave him context for how Damian reacted to certain things.

Damian refused to budge. To say a word.  _ I won’t hurt you.  _ He’d said.  _ I refuse to put this on you, Grayson. It is past and gone, there is nothing you can do now.  _ He didn’t understand that Dick could help. That Dick could hold him, and tell him how wrong he was to think it was all his fault. He could change Damian’s assumption that he deserved the abuse he’d suffered into knowing he’d done nothing wrong.

But only if he could get Damian to talk.

It was why Dick had decided to try this tactic. It was perfect. He could hold Damian, keep him safe and tucked close, all while keeping his face from betraying the heat burning in his chest. Damian was spared confirmation his words made Dick’s chest ache, and he didn’t have to hide his face for fear of seeming weak. Plus, he had the support of his brother.

Dick buried his face closer into Damian’s hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, as his brother detailed the dream, and the memory attached to it. Once he’d started talking he seemed a fountain of words. His chest heaving against Dick’s arms. It didn’t take long for his hand to take Dick’s sleeve and wad it in his grip.

He fought the angry tears in his own chest as Damian listed out the details of his punishment in a dull voice. The one he used after a patrol gone wrong when he knew he was in trouble. The rare one that had already accepted he’d be punished. (Damian never expected how soft the punishment would be, and that more than anything made tears prickle behind Dick’s eyes, especially now that he was hearing one Damian  _ would _ expect).

Dick pressed a soft kiss onto Damian’s head as the child’s voice hitched for a moment before smoothing back into monotone. His arms tightened just a little more around his boy. Dick could not cry. It would chase Damian away, or worse stop him up and keep him from ever talking about this again. He needed his brother to talk about it, needed him to release part of the pain he held inside. He could cry for his boy later, after Damian had done some of his own.

At last, the words petered off and Damian sat silent for a breath, then he was scrambling. For a moment Dick thought he was going to make a run for the door, but Damian only needed Dick’s grip to loosen enough for him to turn, and bury his face in Dick’s chest.

His arms snaked around Dick’s middle, holding him in a tight grip, his legs tucked beneath him, and resting somehow comfortably on Dick’s thighs. He breathed heavily into Dick’s shirt, every few inhales hitching as if he were trying desperately not to cry.

Dick’s hold shifted, one hand pulling him close, by the small of his back. His other hand moved to Damian’s head, fingers carding through his hair in soft, comforting motions.

“It’s okay.” Dick murmured, “It’s alright.”

Damian shook his head against Dick’s chest, but didn’t move beyond that. Dick didn’t stop petting his hair, or softly consoling him, his voice a constant stream of  _ You’ll be okay, you can cry if you want, It’s not your fault,  _ and  _ I love you’s _ .

His brother’s fight against the tears was a losing one, especially with Dick’s permission. It was the quiet kind of tears, hot and steady, but not racking or shaking his whole body. Just the kind that come when they refuse to be held back any longer than they have. Dick was sure these had been held in check for far too long.

At some point the tears ceased, Damian’s death grip around Dick loosened, and the boy began to nod off against Dick’s chest.

Dick made to scoop him up so he could carry him back to bed, but Damian shook his head.

“Don’t leave.”

Of course he wasn’t going to leave, but if just that had been construed as it…well Dick could manage a night on the couch. He reached over the side and pulled the heavy throw off that Alfred left for times like this and pulled both Damian and himself back against the couch to lay down.

As Dick tucked the blanket around them, Damian made quick work of snuggling against him, using his chest as a pillow. Dick tugged one of the fluffier decorative ones from the floor where Damian must have kicked them when he’d come in, and propped it under his head. His arms wrapped back around his brother to make sure he wouldn’t roll off him while they slept.

“You were right.” Damian’s voice was quiet.

Dick hummed a questioning sound.

“It was easier to talk that way.” Damian answered.

Dick leaned forward and pressed another kiss into his baby brother’s hair, “Did you ever doubt me?” he said, allowing a small smile. Tonight, had been a victory. A step in the right direction.

“No. Thank you.” Damian muttered through a yawn.

“Anytime, Little D.” Dick said, letting his eyes drift shut, “Anytime.”


End file.
